"So I'm asking you, Angelina, will you marry me? Will you be my wife, my partner, my Valentine, for as long as we both shall live?"
I stared down at him, this beautiful man on his knees in a sea of rose petals, offering me everything I'd been afraid to want.
My mother's will. My uncle's threats. The impossible deadline. The demands on his side. All of it faded away. Because this wasn't about business anymore. This was about the way Dez looked at me like I was precious. The way he'd spent the whole day trying to show me what our life together could be. The way he'd admitted his fear but was willing to try anyway. This was about choosing each other. Despite the odds. Despite the timeline. Despite every logical reason to say no.
"Yes," I whispered.
His eyes widened. "Yes?"
"Yes!" I laughed through my tears. "Yes, I'll marry you. Yes to all of it. Yes."
He stood in one fluid motion and pulled me into his arms, kissing me with a intensity that made my knees weak. When he pulled back, his hands were shaking as he took the ring from the box and slipped it onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
"How did you—" I stared at the ring, then at him. "When did you do this?"
"Early this morning. While you were sleeping." He smiled. "I measured your finger with a ribbon and had a jeweler size it."
"You measured my finger while I was asleep?"
"I'm very motivated when I want something." He kissed my hand, right above the ring. "And I wanted you to have the perfect ring."
I looked at it again, the way it caught the light, the way it looked on my hand, the weight of it both physical and symbolic.
I was engaged to Desmond Moretti. After knowing him for almost no time. It should have terrified me. Instead, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
"When?" I asked. "When do you want to get married?"
"As soon as possible. We both have deadlines." He pulled me closer. "But I meant what I said, you'll get a real wedding. Whatever you want. We'll make it special."
"I don't need special. I just need you." The words came out before I could stop them, raw and true.
His expression softened. "You have me. For better or worse, you have me."
"For better or worse," I echoed. "I like the sound of that."
"Good." He swept me up into his arms, carrying me toward the bedroom. "Because now that you've said yes, I plan to spend the rest of the night showing you exactly what you've agreed to."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Both." His smile was wicked. "And this time, Mrs. Moretti-to-be, I'm not holding anything back."
My stomach flipped at the title. At the promise in his voice. At the heat in his eyes.
"Good," I whispered. "Because neither am I."
He carried me into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind us. And as he laid me on the bed, as his hands found the zipper of my dress, as his mouth claimed mine with a possession that felt like a vow?—
I knew I'd made the right choice. This was crazy. Impulsive. Reckless in every possible way. But it was also right. And I couldn't wait to see where it led.
Angelina
It’s been three months since Dez dropped to one knee in a circle full of rose petals and asked me to marry him. Three months since I'd said yes to the most insane, impulsive, perfect decision of my life. And in a few days, I'd be walking down the aisle.
I stared at my computer screen, trying to focus on the Q2 projections in front of me, but my mind kept wandering. To the dress hanging in my closet at home, custom-made, ivory silk that made me feel like a goddess. To the venue Gianna had somehow secured on short notice. To the fact that I was about to be Angelina Moretti. The thought still made my stomach flip.
